


Tea & Sympathy... Finally

by Wolfsbride



Series: Tea [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/pseuds/Wolfsbride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M and Bond talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea & Sympathy... Finally

It's later than usual when M finally makes it home and really all she wants to do is fall into bed. Her clash with Bond had weighed heavily in spite of the fact that she had managed to get caught up on most of her outstanding work. She's not looking forward to trying to cobble something together for dinner but as her stomach reminds her, she'd worked through lunch and had little other than the cup of tea James provided her with. 

When she opens the door to her flat, a wonderful aroma welcomes her and she halts the automatic motion of going for the hidden gun that an intruder elicits. If someone has broken in to make her dinner, it would be very rude to shoot them. At least until after the meal. 

Besides, there's only one person it could be and she can't quite quash the small flare of joy his presence causes. If he's still willing to feed her there is hope yet. She drops her bag in a chair and slips off her shoes. Her coat, scarf and gloves get tossed onto the same chair and then she pauses and takes a deep breath. 

Right. Time to beard the lion in its den. Though technically, the den is hers. 

The meeting is anti-climactic, however, for when she reaches the kitchen, the room is dark. Flipping on the lights, she spies the crock pot from which the wonderful smell is emanating. There is also a foil wrapped baguette sitting on the side. 

Crossing over to the stove, she finds that both the crock pot and the bread are warm which tells her she hadn't missed Bond by much. She sighs in disappointment. Her life is turning into a teenage drama. It's embarrassing.

Her stomach growls and she decides not to let Bond's good deed go to waste. Lifting the lid, she sees what looks to be a wonderful stew, hearty enough to satisfy but not so heavy as to give her nightmares due to the lateness of the meal. She serves herself a portion and cuts off a hunk of the baguette to go with it.

Settling down at the kitchen table, she eats slowly. She misses their dinner conversations. It's little comfort to think that even angry he's still looking after her.

When she's finished eating, she makes quick work of the dinnerware and puts away the left overs. She's more tired than ever now and she wanders into the bathroom, where she goes through her bedtime routine. As she strips away her armor, she worries about Bond. 

Perhaps she was wrong to succumb to both their desires. She can only hope he gives her an opportunity to fix what has been broken; if she can figure out how. Their professional and personal relationships depend on it.

She turns on the lights as she enters the bedroom, and just manages to stifle her gasp. Bond is in her bed, fully clothed, fast asleep. Her heart breaks a little when she sees that he's curled around her pillow.

Moving over to the bed, she sits on the edge. She doesn't touch him; she knows that ways lies a bruised arm or worse. She studies him a moment and then calls his name softly. 

He stirs slowly, rolling over to lie flat while still clutching her pillow. He blinks up at her, looking all of ten years old and she is nearly overcome with the urge to kiss him senseless. But not yet. Maybe not ever, if they don't work things out between them. 

"You're late." His voice is rough with sleep.

"There was quite a lot of work to be done."

Awareness filters in and his gaze shifts away from hers. She feels its loss keenly.

"I thought perhaps you were still angry with me." His tone is bleak.

"Oh _James_. Come here."

He hesitates, which cuts her to the bone. Somehow, and she doesn't understand how, she's hurt him terribly. He doesn't trust her not to hurt him again. That fact pains her.

Shifting, she gives his arm a little tug. "Come on, then. Sit up."

He follows her instructions reluctantly and stiffens when she hugs him. 

She refuses to let go though. She just tightens her embrace and tucks her head under his chin. "I won't say I'm sorry because you were being a prat but I will apologize for not being clear where our priorities should lie. You are very hard to resist, Mr. Bond."

He laughs but it's brittle and she pulls back enough so she can look up at him. "James?"

"You trained me so well at being a ladies man, you can't tell when I'm being sincere." 

The bitterness drips from his words. She is in the middle of trying to formulate a response when he breaks her grip on him, cups her face in his large palms and gives her a kiss that is more punishment than passion. When he draws back, they are both panting. 

"You are not a mark!" He whispers fiercely. "I don't respond to you because I've been told to; because I want something from you. I respond because you're sexier than any woman I've ever met in my life. I can't stop thinking about you. Your body, yes, but also your wit. For fuck's sake, last week, when you were raking Conners over the coals, I wanted to jump you."

Bond's hands drop to M's shoulders and he shakes his head. "I don't even understand myself. You're right. My behaviour in your office was unprofessional. I'm used to being able to turn it on or off." He shrugs. "I don't seem to have an off where you're concerned. But it's not a game to me. I swear it."

M finds herself incapable of doing more than just staring at Bond for several minutes. Finally, still unable to bring any order to her thoughts, she stands and pulls, indicating she wants him to follow. Bond gets to his feet wearily.

"Have you eaten?" She asks as they leaves the bedroom. 

"No. I wasn't in the mood."

She thinks about the fact that he came and fixed her a meal when clearly he was expecting more of her reprimands. She remembers drumming duty into him; she just never thought it would turn towards her. Shooing him into a chair at the kitchen table, she gets the leftovers out and starts them warming. 

While that’s being done, she makes a pot of tea. As she goes through the motions, she remembers meeting with the head of Japanese security. While the ritual of British tea isn’t quite so elaborate, right now, the results are the same. It allows her to both clear her mind and focus her thinking. 

Tea done, she serves Bond a bowl of his stew and some of the baguette and then places a cup of tea next to him as well. Bond looks at her, face carefully blank, and she realizes this is the first time she’s ever got that expression from him.

“Just eat, James. We’ll talk after you’re done.”

She sips her own tea and avoids looking at him.

****

Everything’s put away again so there’s no more reason to wait and yet M finds it hard to even start. She’s headed more meetings than she cares to remember; made public speeches, met with heads of states and still the idea of verbalizing her current thoughts seem insurmountable. Bond is staring at her now, and then, as is usually the case with Bond, he takes it out of her hands.

“You think I’m not serious because of your age.”

It scares her a little how well he is able to read her. She looks down at her cup. “Well, yes. You have to admit I’m not up to your standards.”

Bond snorts. “M, you exceed my standards, and frankly I’m glad of it.” His cheeks flush a little and he ducks his head. “It’s sort of what drives me mad about you.”

“James, I don’t…”

He doesn’t let her finish. “I meant what I said, you know. I’m not playing a game. I know you find my behaviour appalling but it’s your own damn fault for being so bloody sexy. You hold your pen and I’m thinking of your hand on my cock. When you get that stiff lip expression…” Bond trails off, shaking his head. Then he looks at her fondly. “I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

M blushes, then wants to smack herself. Instead, she fiddles with her cup. “I thought perhaps I was a distraction.”

Bond laughs. “You bloody well are! But not in the way you think. You’re a distraction because I can’t focus on anything else.”

M looks up at that. “Is that going to be a problem?” She knows from experience a second of inattention is all it takes to end up dead. 

Taking her cup away, Bond squeezes her hand. “I know it doesn’t seem like it but I am capable of being professional. In the field, it’s the mission and nothing else.”

“Good. That’s good.” M turns her hand in his and links their fingers. “You’re not the only one operating out of their comfort zone.” Her tone is hushed as though the walls have ears. “I’m not used to being held hostage by my baser instincts. It’s unnerving. And when I thought you were just amusing yourself, well…” M shrugs.

“So, basically, we were both idiots.” Bond says dryly.

She glares at him, but it lacks her usual heat. “Speak for yourself, James.” 

He grins and then raises her hand and kisses her knuckles. “I promise to try to be a good boy from now on.”

M raises a brow. 

“At least in this regard.” He amends. 

“And I promise not to hold my pen in suggestive ways.” 

Bond laughs again. He stands and then pulls her to her feet. “It’s probably easier if I just spend as little time as possible in your presence at the office. You’re just naturally erotic.”

She lets him usher her to the bedroom. She feels steadier now and though she’s not really thinking about sex, she’s willing to let Bond change her mind if he so desires.


End file.
